


To the Taxman

by Misterkingdom



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead Series - Robert Kirkman & Jay Bonansinga
Genre: I swear this is the last time I'm gonna post this mf fanfic, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Negan needs a warning tag just for being Negan, Possessive Behavior, Suggestive Themes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misterkingdom/pseuds/Misterkingdom
Summary: “You want to keep acting tough, like I still need to break you, and break you I shall eventually. Iconoclasm. Deicide. Knock you off your fucking pedestal. Remember: The name of the game is breaking you in front of your people. I’ll slide my dick down your throat and make you thank me for it…Then they’ll all fall in line.”





	To the Taxman

“Nice fucking place.” Negan said as he looked around worn house. He walked ahead of Rick as if the psychopath knew the layout of the house. “I mean, kudos! How many of these fuckers are empty?”  

“I don’t know.”  

“Of course you don’t. In here.” Negan pointed Lucille toward a room on the left.  

The room was pink and polished with a bruised, white crib in the middle. The cradle danced with the cold wind dripping from the broken window. The fluttering, once virgin white curtains, gave way to the grey light of dying day to fall upon the little bed. The crib was foggy and dust encrusted with the jewels of time. Tiny angels danced above it, playing a screeching, out of time, flinching rendition of, “You are My Sunshine.” The past drowned Rick like a tide, pulling him like an undertow. Lori hummed it to Carl—it hurt his ears with its memory.  

The ducks in the wallpaper were frozen in a pink lemonade sky, their world ripping away like a cigarette burn in a home movie. The white carpet was muddied brown from their dirty life, foot traffic made a straight line to the crib and back to the door. It wasn’t only him who came to gaze at the innocent past this room provided. The room frizzled with film grain brought on by the closing night.  

“Hello? Am I talking to my fucking self here?” 

Rick snapped back into their grime encrusted reality and turned to watch Negan in the near dark. The psycho was holding Lucille across his shoulders. He wore a tight frown and his shark black eyes weighted on Rick. Negan's broad shoulders stretched out made him more imposing as he already was. He was at least 6’2— a brick house of a man. Negan was a tornado in human form and as dangerous and unpredictable as one.  

“Hey, if you lost your marbles, that’s a-o-fucking-kay.” Negan said before pointing Lucille at Rick. “I’m absolutely fucking sure your Asian American friend isn’t using his. Lucille is still wearing his brains. Looks good on her. You want to borrow some so you could pay the fuck attention?” 

 _I'm going to kill you._  

“What do you want?” Rick said.  

“What you owe me. I came all the way down here and you don’t have shit.” 

“Not our fault. We can’t give you shit if we don’t have shit.”  

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Negan said. “I made it absolutely fucking clear that what I want is half of your shit.” 

“Then take half of what you find—there’s not much in truck.” Rick said. “Take it all for all I care. Just leave as fast as you can." 

Negan narrowed his eyes but his switchblade smirk was still in effect. “Now look at king shit.”  

“What?”  

“You want me to believe I’ve beaten you! I can’t believe my fucking eyes. Why didn’t I see it before? You’re a never ending Christmas present! Gotta find a way to open you up that doesn't involve your guts getting acquainted with the carpet.” 

“…what?”  

“This poor pissbaby act is shoddy. What do you have planned, Rick the Prick? I am so fucking excited!” Negan said. “But listen here, dipshit, I—Lucille give me strength—I have bent over fucking backwards in my attempts to show you just how reasonable I could be. Your son hid in one of my trucks and machine gunned a few of my men…to death…and what did I do? Did I gut that boy? Or let a few of my boys run a train on him? No. Because I’m fucking reasonable! And you're goddamn planning shit behind my back when you should be saying, ‘Thank you Negan, who is fucking reasonable and didn’t let your boys run a train on my son even though he absolutely fucking deserved it. Also thanks for killing that fucking snake in the grass who wanted to replace me!’” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Boy, do I want to put Lucille through your thick fucking skull right now.  I can’t, though. These people need to see you broken. They’ll fall in line. Iconoclasm. That’s the word, right? Art teacher said something about that. Anyway, I break you, show the cracks in you, they’ll realized they’re following the wrong man. Guess who they’ll look to for their new god? Go on guess!”  

“You?” 

“Oh, come on! The answer is Lucille! The answer is always Lucille!” Negan said while raising his bat high enough break one of the ceiling fans. The flash of electricity glanced off the broken pieces. The glitter rain of glass fell to the carpet. A huge chunk of it landed around Rick's feet. He didn’t flinch. He couldn't with the maniac watching. "Now, what to do, what to do, what to do.” 

“What to do about what?” Rick asked.  

“You. You want to keep acting tough, like I still need to break you, and break you I shall eventually. Iconoclasm. Deicide. Knock you off your fucking pedestal. Remember: The name of the game is breaking you in front of your people. I’ll slide my dick down your throat and make you thank me for it…Then they’ll all fall in line.” 

 “Negan.” 

“I could still have a few of my boys run a train on _your_ boy but I don’t want to because he’s a fucking badass.” Negan said. “I could get a few of my boys to run a train on that black girl with the dreadlocks, but she looks like my future wife and doing that might hurt my chances with her. What if I got my boys to run a train on _you_? And in front of every fucking townie in this little community? Damn, I simply cannot fucking decide!” 

“No. No one else gets hurt or this deal is over.” Rick said. “This is between you and me.”  

“Hey, fucker, this is my game. I make the rules.” Negan pointed his bat at Rick. “And when I’m indecisive, Lucille makes the rules and you don’t want that. This wouldn’t happen if you cooperated.” 

 Negan closed his eyes and held his bat too his lips. Rick took a shuddery breath as itchy sweat bled against his body in the too tight, too hot room. His heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. He breathed as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.  

“You.” Negan pointed Lucille at him. 

“I—“ 

“Minus the running a train thing.” 

“Then me what?” 

“You cocksucker.”  

“What the hell—“ 

“You’re a cocksucker. Well, you’re going to be a cocksucker in a minute.” Negan said. “I use the whole throat fucking analogy as a metaphor. It means that I am fucking in charge and you will submit to me and give me half your shit and say thank you after. Though, I think we have something here. What if I really slid my dick down your throat?” Negan chuckled at some joke Rick couldn’t hear. “On your knees.” 

“No.” 

Hot pinpricks of pain travelled from the side of his jaw to his temples. His jaw clicked as his neck bent. Hot blood dripped from where his tooth dug into the fragile skin of his lips. Even Negan's slaps are as good as punches. Every move the psycho made hurt like a recoil from a shotgun.  

“Say no again. I fucking dare you. I double dare you. I triple dare you. Say no again and I will bring your son in here to watch. Every time you say no, I’m going to add another audience member. Say fucking no again after that, I will line ‘em up and stomp them to fucking death. Say no again after all of that, I leave you the fuck alone.”  

Rick’s stomach tided. He pushed down the seasick disgust. He needed to stay cool. Negan is a fucking psychopath. He doesn’t always do what he says he will. Rick is praying this is true.  

“What happened to you hating sexual violence?”  

“It’s not sexual violence if you agree.” 

“In what world does that make sense, you maniac?”  

“No name calling, you fucking rube.” Negan said. “Now, we’re wasting daylight and I want to get back home and be balls deep in my hottest wife before tomorrow morning. On your knees, like you’re praying. Like you fucking worship me. Make me believe it, Rick, because I know you don’t. In time you will but until then, get on your knees and earn your fucking Oscar.”  

Rick swallowed thickly and knelt on the carpet, the glass cracking like a clean snap of bone. Every muscle in his body protests against the long day, and even longer mental strain. The fear and disgust possessed him but what came after is what will keep him awake at night—shame. Negan looked down on him, his dagger sharp smirk still in effect. He leaned the bat gainst his broad shoulder.  

“We’re waiting.” Negan nodded to Lucille. He grew quiet. His smirk fell. He pulled his fist back with the intention of punching Rick, but it seemed to be frozen there. The psychopath’s eyes were doll black as the look on his face was banal amusement. His smirk broke through again. “Oh, you’re missing a fucking arm for fuck’s sake. Forgive my goddamn rudeness. Let me give you a hand.” 

Negan placed Lucille in the crib. The tremor from the impact shocked the crib into singing, “You are my sunshine” again. Its stuttering octaves cut through the thick silence.  

“Your son sang this for me, you know. He was pretty fucking good.” Negan said. He placed his hand on his belt, unbuckling it slowly. The clinking noises accompanied the worn song coming from the crib. The gun fell out of the front of Negan’s pants. Rick jumped at the muted thud. 

“Oh. Shit. Good thing I kept the safety on. I usually forget to.” Negan shrugged. “Hand it to me.”  

 _Shoot him in the dick._  

Pushing down the thought was burying his pride. He grabbed the handle, the weight of guns fit into his hands perfectly now, like it was an extension of him. He held the hilt toward Negan.  

“See? We work together well. There may be hope for this friendship yet.” Negan grasped the hilt and tossed the gun into the crib. Rick flinched. When the shot didn’t come, Negan chuckled. “Hey, what did I tell you? Safety first. Now, you wasted enough of my time. Open up.”  

Rick took a shuddery breath as Negan combed his fingers up the front of Rick’s hair and held. The grimy leather glove burned Rick’s face. He guided it back until Rick was looking up at him.  

“You fuckers live like kings here. I bet this house got electricity too?”  

“Yes.”  

“This is my vacation home now. I mean, why the fuck not? And after we’re done here, this room will have fond memories.” Negan said. “Well, I’m not going to turn on the lights now. You look fucking gnarly. I’m just going to imagine my hot wife. The hot wife. Every other pales in comparison: Lucille.” 

Negan crushed his pants down to his knees. The heat radiating from being so close to the psychopath made Rick sweat. His stomach cramped. He tried not to wretch. Negan grasped the crown of Rick’s head tight, twisting his fingers in Rick’s grime-heavy hair.  

“You ever suck a dick?”  

“No.”  

“Why? You never been to prison? Guys like me make guys like you suck dick in prison."  

“I haven’t been to prison.” 

“What? You’re a fucking badass who’s never been to jail? Wow, you’re slick enough to slip through the cracks. Double badass. I gotta keep my eyes on you. Just so you’d know, you’d get your dick sucked _a lot_ in jail. This is a compliment. Say thank you.” 

“Let’s get this over with.” Rick clutched a piece of glass behind his back until his palms were slick with his own blood. One good stab in Negan's leg, sever an artery and make it to Carl before the blood dries. He’s counting on Negan’s goons to have herd mentality—killing Negan could be like cutting the head off the snake. Leaderless, the body dies.  

Negan pulled his pants up. He reached over and flicked the light switch, drowning them in a bile yellow hue. Rick’s eyes itched against the assault. When his eyes adjusted he was confronted by Negan’s smirk. The maniac’s shirt was raked up to exposed his sculpted, scar woven abdomen. 

“What’s happening?” Rick asked.  

“We don’t rape. Rape is against the rules and the rules keep us alive. We need rules or we’re just as bad as those shit stained dead fucks.” Negan said. “We’re not monsters. Badass motherfucking killers? Yes, when we have to be. Rapist? Not on your life." 

Rick stood and stepped back. His bones creaked. His chest was painful. His throat was dry.  

“Then what the fuck—“ 

“You sound disappointed. I still could stick my dick down your throat if you ask me nicely." Negan said. “Well, really, this was just an exercise to show you how vulnerable you are. Me and Lucille could've fucked you all different kinds of ways in this brat's room and you couldn't do anything to stop me. We'd wear you out, really fuck you sideways and despite the fact that I'm just one man, Rick, Lucille is a whole ‘lotta woman. She's always D.T.F. The bitch can't get enough. So in case you didn't get the memo before, this is my final warning: Don't. Fuck. With. Me. Got it?" 

"Yeah, I got it."  

“And, Prick, remember this: You answer to me. You provide for me. You **belong** to me.” Negan said. “I am your savior. Say it” 

“You’re our—“ 

“ _Your_ savior.” 

“You’re my savior.” Rick nudged the piece of glass in his back pocket. The blood makes a mess of his jeans, wetting the old blood clouds with new. He'll need stiches. It’s funny how pain barely registered on him anymore. He longed for the days when stubbing his toe could put him out of commission for at least a minute. Now it would take nothing less than a dull butter knife cracking into him for the pain to be the same again. He's numb in body and soul. 

"Good. Count your fucking blessings that I’m not a vengeful God. If Lucille was in charge, man, you don’t even want to know.” Negan shoved the gun in the front of his pants. After fighting with his buckle, he placed Lucille across his shoulders. "Now that Judas motherfucker—Spencer, or what the fuck ever his name was, said something about a pool table. Point me to his former house and we'll play pool while my boys load all your shit into my truck." 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  1) OKAY THIS IS THE LAST TIME I'M GOING TO POST THIS. I KEEP TAKING IT DOWN BECAUSE ANXIETY IS A BASTARD, but I like the way this is written because it's nice and succinct. Give me feedback! I always like to improve.  
>   
> 2) I don't have any betas because everyone is out enjoying their summer--as they should be.  
>   
> 3) The title is a lyric from 'A Wolf at the Door' by Radiohead.  
>   
> 4) This Negan is extremely based on the comic book Negan, as I don't watch the show (though I must say, Jeffrey Dean Morgan is looking yummy in it.) So consider that before advising me about his OOC-ness. Also comic book Negan curses a lot. It's a part of his personality. I have a few comic book Negan scans on my [TUMBLR BLOG](http://misterkingdom.tumblr.com/tagged/negan).  
>   
> 5) Also, I want to write more Negan fanfic but I don't know who to ship him with! He only hangs out with Lucille and shows extreme distaste for his lackies. So tell me who you guys ship him with!  
>   
> 6) Thank you for reading!


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